


As The Earth Heals (So Too Shall I)

by thepizzasitter



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Canon, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Anticipation, Aw yiss gimme that bowman on his knees, Bard just wants to help him find the path again, Begging, Biting, Body Worship, Bottom Thranduil, Canonical Character Death, Caring Thranduil, Dirty Talk, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, Family Fluff, First Time, Fluff and Smut, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Height Differences, Hurt/Comfort, I Will Go Down With This Ship, M/M, Mentioned Kíli/Tauriel, Mutual Pining, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Porn with Feelings, Power Dynamics, Requited Love, Rimming, Simultaneous Orgasm, Smitten Bard, Smut, Strip Tease, Submission, Talk Elvish To Me, The Author Regrets Nothing, Thranduil is feeling a bit lost, Top Bard, and will stop making ridiculous tags now
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-20
Updated: 2015-02-20
Packaged: 2018-03-13 21:47:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3397502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thepizzasitter/pseuds/thepizzasitter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Mere hours had passed since the end of what seemed like all things, though Bard knew better. There had been endings, yes. Death, destruction, and the knowledge that the earth was not quite as solid as he wished it to be. Still. The beginnings were high in number as well." Not everything is lost after the Battle of the Five Armies, and a Dragonslayer searches for an Elvenking in the ruins of Ravenhill. Barduil.</p>
            </blockquote>





	As The Earth Heals (So Too Shall I)

**Author's Note:**

> I've been writing this damn thing for ages and it's FINALLY done! I got to the end, said 'screw it', and sort of didn't edit it all, so if there are any glaring mistakes, feel free to let me know. Anyways, enjoy the Barduil! This pairing has taken over my life in the best way. Some general music inspirations were "Beside You" by Mariana's Trench, "Narnia Lullaby" from "The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe" film, and "Black is The Color of My True Love's Hair" as performed by Celtic Woman. For additional fics, drabbles, cosplay, and more, please check out my Tumblr (kesstiel.tumblr.com) Have an adventure filled day!

Mere hours had passed since the end of what seemed like all things, though Bard knew better. There had been endings, yes. Death, destruction, and the knowledge that the earth was not quite as solid as he wished it to be.

Still.

The beginnings were high in number as well. The ground would heal, for there was little that couldn’t be soothed with the coming spring and some time. The lives lost in battle--such brave men and women, hungry and weak and of little consequence to the immediate world, but so very important in the ever flowing river of time--would be at peace. They would rest beneath the recovering fields, and their memories would be carried until they could be set down and left to the embrace of the dust without the sting of what could have been.

Bard would be king. His children would finally know what it meant to have a warm home and full bellies, and despite every misgiving and fear in his heart--for there were many--Bard knew that every breath he drew henceforth would be something new to give to the people. He loved his strong lakemen, the family both of his blood, and chosen by his heart. His brothers, sisters, children, and friends. All of them were precious, and as he gazed upon the ruin and the pain all around him, for a moment he could see only the joy that it would one day become.

That day was far off for now, but he would cling to that hope as tightly as he could. There was no other option, lest he find himself crippled by his grief for the endings that even still outnumbered the good things to come.

His eyes scanned the crowd, searching, but the face he sought was nowhere to be found. His heart was beating a rhythm of fear, a strange gripping thing that made his breath come short and his hands tremble. He stumbled around like a man half blinded by thirst, looking at each face and growing more hopeless when each one did not reveal the icy blue eyes he so desperately needed to see.

Eventually, he came upon the ruins that stood above the broken city, and found the one he sought. He beheld the elvenking, cloaked in the garments of battle, hair loose and flowing, rippling in the frigid air that whipped across the barren landscape. It cut harshly into him, but the elf before him seemed uncaring of the freezing bite of winter. His eyes stared unseeing, listless, out beyond the forge beneath the cliff. His hands, usually so steady to the point of arrogance, were shaking.

It was the sight of that slight, powerful body trembling, and the cuts and bruises that marred such beautiful skin that drew Bard from his haze. He ran forward, shouting to his ally and friend in delight at having found him alive. The shift left him reeling, as though he could not be conquered. He very nearly wished in that moment that another army might come, for he felt as though he could strike its entirety down himself for all he felt so powerful seeing his friend safe from the maw of death.

Thranduil looked up, eyes lost and jaw set in a manner that spoke of a desperation to maintain mastery over itself, and Bard collapsed at his feet, thinking that perhaps nothing in the wide world was out of reach. There was everything to lose, and yet he knew he’d throw nearly everything to the wayside if it meant he could reach out and reassure himself that this fae creature was alive and out of danger. He wrapped his arms around Thranduil, pressing his face into the soft fabric of his robes and laughed until tears flowed from his eyes. He refused to look up at the shock he knew would be displayed on the normally stoic face, refused to acknowledge the fact that he, a lowly bargeman and common man, was gripping and pawing at a king of immortal beings in his haste to make sure all would be well.

“You’re _alive_ ,” he murmured again and again, hands clenching and unclenching against the elvenking’s sides, and he finally pulled back to stare at that bewitching face, the expression of shock he’d feared there for anyone to see. He lowered his eyes, pressing his forehead back down against Thranduil’s knees and tried to slow his breathing, still grinning. He needed to regain composure, though his dignity was obviously not to ever be reclaimed, but the knowledge that Thranduil was here and would continue to live on was enough to quell the pain of knowing he might have just ruined a most precious friendship with his ridiculous love of this elf.

He’d only barely admitted his affections to himself, and now he had cast them onto the elvenking without so much as a by-your-leave.

He rallied as quickly as he could and let his breathing come down to a more manageable set of gulps. Only then did he realize that it wasn’t he who was shaking. Thranduil was looking upon him, eyes glassy, and Bard nearly began his apologies early before the elf sank down from his seat of stone and pressed himself into the lakeman’s arms. He was shuddering and Bard could feel cold tears smearing against his neck. Lithe, strong hands clutched at his shoulders, his arms, his neck and the back of his head and stilted, quiet words of elvish flowed over him in the quiet of the forge, only Thranduil’s enchanting voice and the wind making any sound in that forsaken space.

Bard let himself have a moment, and laid his cheek upon Thranduil’s head, one hand holding the elvenking close while the other threaded into the silken white gold hair and combed his fingers through it soothingly.

All was still and peaceful as the lord of elves let himself weep for all he had lost, cradled in the comfort and safety of the dragonslayer’s arms.

It was a long while before Thranduil’s tears ran dry, and though he had shown this weakness to the bowman, Bard could see the incredible pains he took to try and recover quickly from his assumed shame.

“You have nothing to fear from me in this, my lord,” Bard murmured to him when he thought Thranduil might pull away. “I have no sway, no power in this world that I might use your grief against you. Nor the will, even if I did. My people’s debt to you--”

“Is nothing,” Thranduil spoke, and drew away, an unreadable mask secured in place once more on his features. “I will hear nothing of debts, master bargeman, do I make myself clear?”

He sounded so stung, and Bard felt helpless to find a way to ease the bite from his voice.

“Perfectly, my king,” he returned, eyes downcast once more. He might never use what Thranduil entrusted him with against him, but he now realized he was uncertain if the elf held the same scruples.

“Your king…” Thranduil said after a long silence. Bard dared a glance up. “Are you not to be a king yourself, Bard? The new King of Dale, after your people have settled in for a time. There will be a coronation, and then people will call _you_ their king.”

Bard shook his head, already wearied by the thought. “Aye, I suppose I will be, though all that is good knows I do not want the crown. I struggle to raise my children, how am I to lead thousands? It does not matter for now. My people are hearty folk, they will endure over the centuries. The provisions you have given us will last us through the winter, if we manage them well, and perhaps when the cold flees and the warmth of spring dawns, the Dwarves will be more inclined to grant us some favor.”

Thranduil scoffed, or came as close to it as an elf did. “I truly admire your willingness to have dealings with Dwarves. I myself have long since left behind my patience for it.”

Bard smiled at that. “You’ve seen countless centuries, my lord. Surely time breeds patience?”

Thranduil returned the smile, a small turn of his lips that never failed to melt Bard’s heart. “Apparently not for the antics of Dwarves.”

Bard laughed and looked out to the gorge spread before them. In spite of the wretchedness endured in this place, it was still somehow breathtaking in its beauty. Sunken and weathered by the elements, but eternal in the way only those with endless time could witness.

“Would you grant me a request, Bard?” Thranduil’s voice softly cut through his musings, and he turned to see a strange hopefulness on the elf’s face before it was hidden away.

“Anything, my lord,” he promised without thought, knowing there was little the elf could ask that he would not bend over backwards to do.

Thranduil’s lips parted for a moment, a shaky breath exhaled, and looked about to say something else entirely. He turned away to look the the gorge Bard had just been staring at, and finally sighed, the moment lost. “I wish for our kingdoms to be allies as Dale is restored to its former glory. My woods are a shadow of what they once were, but our resources are ever numerous, our food plentiful, and we are a mere day’s travel from Dale. I would see your burdens eased, that your people might not just survive the winter, but thrive and find merriment in it. They have lost much, and I should like to aid them in reclaiming what is theirs.”

Bard knew the kind of shock that must be splashed across his face. “I--I cannot--I do not know what kind of alliance you were seeking, my lord, but my people are limited and our resources are non existent. We can offer you nothing in return, not for many years, and even then, it would be naught but akin to paying you with your own coin.”

Thranduil looked down at his hands, and Bard decided he’d had enough of holding back. If the elvenking did not want his affections, then he could say so. He took the pale, soft hand before him and pressed it between his own dirty, time weathered ones.

The elf gazed at him, ethereal eyes ageless and usually so weary, but now there was wonder in them, and he leaned minutely closer, laying his other hand over Bard’s.

“Perhaps I do not seek recompense, Dragonslayer,” he said, voice low. It sent shivers skittering down the bowman’s spine. “You have already done the world a great service in ridding us of the dragon, but even so, I find that I would rather have your friendship, if you will give it, than more meager treasures.”

Such words could have felled a greater man than he, and Bard nearly lost himself in the desire to seal his lips over Thranduil’s. This was not the time nor place however, and there would be time enough later to see how Thranduil might react to such a reckless move.

“Aye,” he agreed, unable to stop smiling. “You have it, my--”

“My name is of use to those I call friends, Bard.”

The lakeman’s grin only grew, and he stood, drawing the elvenking up with him when he heard the call of scouts behind him.

“My friendship is already yours, Thranduil,” he said, leaning in conspiratorily, heat searing through him at the way the king’s tongue darted out to wet his lips though their eyes remained steadfast on the other’s. “As it will ever be. I heartily agree to this alliance. A contract shall be written, then, if it pleases you.”

He stepped away, and raised his chin in mock challenge, hoping his impertinence would not sour the mood. “And if the King of Mirkwood should decide that there is something he would like to ask for in return, he should know that it will be the new King of Dale’s pleasure to supply it.”

He turned and walked to where the scouts were gathered just around the bend, heart beating wildly in his chest and breath coming in short gasps as he thought of the nearly feral look he’d caught in the corner of his eyes before he’d turned from Thranduil’s presence.

_Valar help me, but I think I just flirted with an Elf king._

\---

The hour was late, and the wind was still in the streets of Dale. Fires burned brightly against the night sky, their sparks and crackles a comfort to the people as they found bedding and pitched tents, distributed food, water, medicine, and the like. Someone had pulled out a fiddle and started a victorious tune, and soon enough the sounds of merriment were everywhere, the relief and joy of being alive palpable alongside the grief for those who had not survived with them.

Horns and strings, drums and flutes, and instruments of every sort rang out against the quiet of the night, some voices raised in song, others conversing with one another as the people of Laketown had always done.

Bard’s children ran with the others, laughing and enjoying themselves, though Bard knew there would forever be wary glances cast over their shoulders as they played. He grieved for the loss of that part of their childhood, but tried to console himself by knowing that his little ones had proven their quiet strengths to the people, and that they would be beacons of hope to those around them.

“Da!” A small blur raced to his waiting arms, and he beamed down at Tilda, scooping her up to swing her around while her laughter filled his heart to bursting.

“Treasure of my life, did I just see you poke Ganon with a stick?”

She pouted, and crossed her arms. “Maybe? He said he was a better swordfighter than me because I’m a girl, but Bain has been showing me how to use one and I’m already better than stupid Ganon. He shouldn’t be mean if he doesn’t want to get poked with sticks.”

Bard laughed at her grumpy look, and kissed her forehead. “I’ll tell you a secret, my darling,” he said, grinning and pressing their foreheads together, glancing this way and that as though trying to avoid the prying ears all around. “I think you’re probably a better swordsman than I,” he confessed, and then tickled her sides, cackling at the shriek she let out while she tried to squirm away.

“Nonononono,” she giggled. “Daaaa, I hate being tickled!”

“And here I thought the last of the foul tickle beasts had been slain centuries ago,” came a silken voice from behind them, and Bard whirled around to see Thranduil observing them with a small smile playing upon his lips.

“Da! Is that the elf king?” Tilda asked, awe on her face as she looked at Thranduil’s tall form.

Bard was caught between reminding her that saying things like that was generally considered rude and wondering if he had actually just heard Thranduil say ‘foul tickle beast’ in a way that didn’t sound absolutely absurd.

Tilda wriggled out of his arms and ran up to Thranduil, beaming up at him. To Bard’s astonishment, the king crouched down to be closer to her height, and smiled at his daughter.

“That I am, little one. And who do I have to thank for ridding the land of such a fell creature?” He glanced at Bard, smirking, and Bard laughed, shaking his head and affecting a mock-wounded expression.

“Tilda, sir! I poked Ganon with a stick, and I’m not sorry!”

Thranduil raised a brow, and nodded sagely. “There are times when remorse for besting a foe is necessary, but I hardly think educating a lad on the merits of never underestimating a lady is such a time.”

Tilda puffed up proudly and turned to give Bard an _‘I told you so’_ look. He rolled his eyes and walked forward, enjoying the way Thranduil’s gaze tracked his movements.

Tilda reached up and touched the elvenking’s hair, and _now Bard_ was torn between groaning at his children’s lack of decorum and just a little bit of envy. “You have very pretty hair, your majesty,” she said matter-of-factly. “I wish my hair was so nice.”

Thranduil laughed at the wistful note in her voice, and Bard thought his heart might of stopped at the beautiful sound of it, freely shared with his daughter. “Ah, but yours, _lirimaer_ , is like the leaves of fall: vibrant and untameable as the woods.”

Tilda blushed, delighted by his praise. “Tauriel said that she and Sigrid would braid my hair tomorrow.” She turned to Bard and reached up to him, and he swept her up, holding her close. “Tauriel is so lovely and nice. Can she be my sister, too, Da?”

Bard chuckled and shared a look with Thranduil. “Tauriel likely has her own family and duties to attend to, Tilda. She is welcome anytime though, and I know your siblings will be as glad of it as you.”

“You flatter me, Bard the Dragonslayer,” Tauriel said, striding towards them from down the lane, Sigrid and Bain close behind her. She carried a flute and was smiling as she waved to the people who had no doubt been listening to her play, though a heavy sadness lingered about her, as he suspected it would for a very long time. “Your children are the sweetest and kindest in the land. They have made me feel most welcome here.”

They bowed to each other, before she turned to do the same for Thranduil. “My lord, the patrol has returned with no urgent messages to report. It seems all is well this evening.”

“Good. Have the scouts take partial watches, that they might find some rest. It is unlikely anything will stir in the night.” The way he said it made Bard wonder if the thick richness in the air wasn’t just the joyful emotions running high in the town. It felt like _Magik_ , old and vast and terrible enough to protect them all from what might be lurking beyond this merry camp.

Bard’s lips parted and he breathed out slowly, trying to ignore the way the thought stirred something urgent and fierce and wholly desirable deep within him.

Thranduil looked to him, and he knew he was not the only one experiencing such a thing.

“Of course, my lord. I will take the first watch myself,” she said, but Thranduil arched a brow and waved his hand in dismissal of it.

“There is no need. You are relieved of duty for the night.”

“But, my lord--”

“You have your orders, Tauriel,” he said firmly, though he softened when she looked at him helplessly. “Do not seek to stay your sorrows with distraction, Tauriel. _Lle ume quel. Vasa ar' yulna en i'mereth ar’ esta._ ”

Her eyes were glassy, but she smiled and nodded, bowing once more. “If I may, master bowman,” she said, turning to Bard. “I should like to spend some time with your children, now that the danger is behind us. I will return them home safely to you.”

Bard smiled warmly, wondering how it came to be that the elves had ever gained a cold or unfeeling reputation. “Of course. They know the way, and I have no doubt they’ll be on their best behaviour,” he said, raising his eyebrows meaningfully at his family. They laughed and rolled their eyes, chorusing their angelic agreement, though he knew he had nothing to truly worry about. Tilda ran to Tauriel and wrapped her small arms around her, the elf holding her closer.

“Goodnight, my darlings,” he said, and they all hugged him in turn. Bain and Sigrid glanced at the king watching them all closely, and Bain looked to his sister, sharing a knowing look that made Bard a bit nervous, before he stood before Thranduil and bowed.

“Thank you,” he said simply, and to everyone’s surprise, the elf bowed to Bain as well.

“You’ll make a fine king someday, Bain, Champion of the Lake. I know very well that it was not your father alone who became the terror of dragons that day.”

Bain flushed happily, bowing once more before he shot off to follow Tauriel and Tilda to the camp. Sigrid looked between her father and the elf king once more, and smiled privately to herself, curtsying. “I hope that we may see you soon, my lord,” she said, and Bard wanted to hold his eldest and thank her, knowing her words for what they were. “Be wary, though. I fear my sister may have designs on braiding your hair now that you’ve complimented hers,” she added with cheek, laughing at Bard’s groan of embarrassment.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” he muttered, and kissed her forehead before she strode off to find the others. It was their mother’s fault, clearly, for being so perceptive. She’d obviously passed it on to their children to ensure that Bard’s life would never be dull. He smiled at the thought.

“Forgive their impertinence. I’m afraid there was little use for manners in Laketown for those of our station.”

“Not at all, Bard. Children are a precious rarity for elves, and I have never beheld such well-behaved little ones,” Thranduil replied, sitting on the stone ledge and beckoning Bard to do the same. The bowman sat in front of the elf on the ledge of a fountain, their knees nearly close enough to brush. “My own son has never been quite as well-mannered as I should like, but then, there is time enough for that and it pleases me to know that he is happy…” he trailed off, and for a moment, he looked as lost as he had on the mountainside.

“He will return, Thranduil,” Bard said, and he knew it was true.

“I know,” Thranduil said, looking out into the far off darkness, as if he might still catch a glimpse of Legolas somewhere nearby. “I fear I often need him far more than he needs me. He is grown now, and must find his path, and yet the bond of parent and child is not so easily severed.”

Bard shifted closer, and waited until he’d captured the elf’s eyes before he spoke. “There is no need for letting go, my friend. He will grow and live and love and find his path, but you will always be his father and he will always be your son. You will both enjoy the times you are together, and the time apart will only make the reunions more joyful. You have clearly raised him well.”

“You met my son?”

“Aye. When we spoke after the dragon fell, I saw courage, loyalty, intelligence, and a loving protectiveness for the battered souls around us that I hadn’t expected. He did not see Men, but fellow warriors. It was humbling to see how he and Tauriel took care of my people.” He nodded, and gave the elf a soft smile. “He didn’t learn how to do that on his own.”

A long quiet settled over them, but Bard paid it no mind, knowing Thranduil never spoke in haste, content to wait him out. He listened to the sounds of the town, a happiness that surpassed all circumstance beating through his veins as he heard Sigrid somewhere in the crowds below, singing one of the tunes she hummed whenever she was cooking.

“Bard…” Thranduil’s voice was barely a whisper, and the bargeman turned to find Thranduil looking at him, all ice melted from his countenance. His eyes were a thunderstorm rolling on the plains, terrible and lovely and fraught with the promise of rain, of both destruction and new life for a parched earth.

Bard could feel the spellwork layered over their city, wild and fierce with only one purpose: unyielding protection. It hummed and stroked at his senses, until every nerve felt like a live wire. It felt alive, sentient, in the way old _magik_ sometimes was.

“It feels like nothing I’ve ever encountered before,” he said, half to himself. “It is dangerous and feral, beautiful, and yet…” He stood, looking down at the the king sitting before him, layered in riches and a crown, and he was transfixed by the willing desire he found there. Soft lips were parted just slightly, their breaths silent as they balanced on a knife’s edge. Slowly, he brought his hand up to stroke his fingers along Thranduil’s cheek. A low rumble of pleasure spilled from him when the elf closed his eyes and leaned into the caress. _And yet it feels like home_ , he decided.

“Bard,” Thranduil murmured again, and his hands stroked up Bard’s thighs until they came to his pelvis, and Bard gasped softly at the press of lithe fingers against the hollows of his hips. He found his shirt pushed up slightly, and Thranduil traced the warm skin he found just beyond the hem of the fabric. “I would have you come to my tent tonight.” Bard could hear the question in it, though it wasn’t phrased as such.

Bard stilled for a moment, breath stolen from him at the thought. His children would be in capable hands, and the world was at peace, at least for this night. It had been so long since he’d been with another, and longer still with a man, but if Thranduil wanted _him_ …

His heart was pumping out of his control, heat and want flooding through him and he very nearly ignored the wisdom of a bed and the concealment from prying eyes to just end their agony and bear Thranduil down to the cold stone right there. He took a deep breath took the elvenking’s hand, stepping back to draw him up. Thranduil’s eyes were boring into his, and Bard found the way he had to look down up at him far more thrilling than he’d anticipated.

“Give me an hour,” he whispered finally, and drew the elf’s hand up to kiss the back of it, not letting himself have more just yet. A longer wait meant a greater reward, and it was with that thought that he managed to tear himself away from the spell.

He turned to go, and suddenly found himself whirled back around to be caught up in a breathless kiss. His resolve nearly crumbled at the way Thranduil made a desperate sound when Bard immediately gripped his hips and pulled them flush together, parting the elf’s lips with his tongue to plunder his warm mouth deeply, a mimicry of what was to come later when all was quiet.

Bard drew back, sharply, and shivered when Thranduil swayed forward, as if to chase the kiss, before he opened his eyes and the molten hunger in them was laid bare before him. The elvenking leaned forward and pressed a deceptively innocent kiss to the hollow beneath Bard’s ear. Bard couldn’t help the low moan that escaped him when Thranduil bit down lightly and whispered, “You have half of that, bowman.”

“You have my word,” Bard agreed, and nearly sprinted away, not letting himself look back for fear that he might cave to their desires here and now.

There would be time enough later-- _please, please let there be another time beyond this_ \--to have Thranduil against a pillar of stone.

\---

Bard stood within the king’s tent, having been permitted entry by a guard that stood sentry outside. The outer rooms were ever as they had been when he’d talked with Thranduil and the wizard before the great battle.

A section of fabric separated him from the inner chambers, and Bard had to breathe deeply for a moment, skin feeling too tight and nerves alight with anticipation.

“Enter, Bard the Dragonslayer. I would have you come to me,” Thranduil called to him from beyond the curtains.

“Courage, man,” he muttered to himself. “Do not be such a coward.”

The sight that greeted him made his breath stutter in his chest and his mouth run dry.

Thranduil was standing in the warm light of the fire that flickered within the camp and the small lamps strewn like fairy lights in the room. His robes had been cast off in favor of a simpler dressing gown and the red shawl, one that draped over his lithe frame like water pouring from a fountain. His hair spilled over his shoulders, unadorned and looking softer than the finest silks Dale had ever seen.

He was holding a glass of wine, and when Bard stepped forward, entranced and snared by this indescribable creature before him, he was offered the cup with a small smile. He took it, catching the hand that passed it to him, and held Thranduil’s gaze as he first sipped the sweet drink, and then set it aside on a table to drink of the elf’s presence. He kissed each fingertip carefully, and felt powerful, desirable, and _wanted_ when Thranduil’s eyes fluttered shut and he sighed in approval.

He managed to step away to move around Thranduil slowly, and it seemed the king was as trapped as he was. Thranduil turned with him, watching hungrily as Bard slowly undid the buttons of his shirt, fingers sure and steady with the familiar action despite the newness of the situation he found himself in. He pulled his shirt from his trousers, a let it hang open on him. His fingers crept down to the laces of them, but Thranduil stilled his hand with his own, stepping so very close, till they were nearly kissing, taking over the movement and slipping the leather strands free, one by one.

“You would deprive a king of his spoils--the unwrapping of his long sought treasure?” The elf asked, raising a brow with mischief glittering in his eyes. Such promise held there, and Bard was helpless to it. That this being would look upon him with heat and intent…

“I would deny my king nothing,” he said hoarsely, watching the ease with which Thranduil’s hands carefully undid each lace. His own unknotted the tie of Thranduil’s robe, and it fell open to reveal soft, milky skin that seemed to go on for miles. His breath rushed from him, and he looked up to find Thranduil watching him almost warily.

He slowly reached up to push the garment from the elvenking’s shoulders, letting it fall down his back until it was held by only his arms. His hands traced up the strong stomach before him, marveling at the smooth skin beneath his world roughened hands, and the way the muscles jumped and twitched where he touched. His thumb brushed at a nipple, and the sharp breath Thranduil took in made him look up to find the elf’s lip caught between his teeth, eyes closed with a small furrow between them.

He tugged at it, and when Thranduil did nothing to stay him, leaned down to take it into his mouth, suckling and licking at it till it stood peaked by his attentions. When he turned similar care to the other, Thranduil let a pleased whine escape him, and Bard looked up only to lose himself in the ravenous expression on the elvenking’s face.

“Beyond starlight,” he whispered reverently, delighting in the way the elf’s face flushed just a bit at the praise. “I’ve not lived as you have, walking for ages among trees and mountains and rivers, but if all the world lay in my sight, there could be nothing fairer than your visage.”

“Pretty words,” Thranduil sighed, threading his still jeweled fingers through the messy hair before him. “I dread the day when such praises cease, when I trust you enough that my visage becomes something altogether less beautiful in your eyes. Come though, give me your mouth that I may drink your flattery from the source of all that is truly lovely.”

Their kiss was desperate this time, and Bard could feel the flush traveling along his chest at the elvenking’s retort. The words unsettled him, but he pushed it aside, knowing that Thranduil would clarify his lament in time. Whatever made Thranduil think he could ever find him less than incredible would come forth eventually, and he would be there to hold him and assure him of his affections.

“Wicked elf, you know very well how you appear to the world. I’d not flatter one who has already tamed my heart. I’d simply relish in telling him how perfect he’ll look lying beneath me as I pleasure him till we are both satisfied.” The low moan the followed his words was beyond gratifying.

“And will you, my king? Will it be you having me this night?” He slowly sank down to sit on the bed, and Bard brushed the backs of his fingers along Thranduil’s soft cheek.

“Aye, if you’ll consent to it. I’d not protest the reverse, and in fact will insist upon it in the near future, but tonight I want to do a bit of worshipping if you don’t mind, and I intend to do so thoroughly.”

“Do cease speaking then, and fulfill your desire. I have been kept waiting long enough, bargeman.”

Bard grinned and pushed at the elvenking to climb back among the sheets and pillows, soft and eager to cradle the two as they gave themselves over to their passion. He found a bottle of oil lying on a stand within reach, and brought it over to them, making sure to place it in Thranduil’s sight, as a promise for later.

“Are we back to bargeman, then?” He flipped Thranduil over, to lie on his stomach, and slid his fingers down the pale skin of his back, hands settling at the hips as his knees parted the smooth thighs under him. The ruby drape was settled over the elvenking’s back, preserving what little modesty he had left for the moment, and Bard felt himself harden further, anticipating stripping that last garment away to have Thranduil bared to him fully.

”Tell me, my lord, what will your guards think as a mere bargeman of the lake makes their king beg and plead for his satiation? Will they think less of you if it is a lowly bowman and not a king who spreads their leader’s legs and makes him scream for more?” Bard was shocked at the filth coming from his mouth, but _oh_ it set him to aching thinking of claiming the elvenking so. To know that the adoration that had been settling in his soul since the moment Thranduil had rode up and brought him renewed hope was _returned_ , and freely cried out, would set his heart soaring.

“They will see me on the morrow and _envy me_ ,” Thranduil hissed, gliding smoothly to brace on all fours and opened his stance further. He canted his hips up towards Bard and looked over his shoulder at him, eyes ablaze and lips parted. He smirked at the shock splashed across Bard’s face. “They will know that you are _mine_ , and I yours, and that they may look their fill of you, if they please, but only _I_ am permitted to touch.”

Bard fell upon Thranduil like a beast starved, and rolled them until the elf was sitting astride him, pushing their hips together in a rhythm that was built on hunger and all the time in the world to satisfy it. Each push and pull was commanding and fervent, the cresting of waves against the boats Bard knew better than anyone. He stroked Thranduil’s cock in time with his thrusts, circling the tip with his thumb and teasing the slit when Thranduil shuddered and his hand grew slick with the blurt of precome it induced.

The sounds the elf made were soft, quiet things, as though they were being bitten off,and Bard growled, shifting them again until Thranduil lay on his belly once more. He pushed up the material of the king’s remaining drape, and Thranduil shivered when Bard teased the soft cloth against his entrance. He moaned, panting a bit when the bowman pulled it away entirely, leaving him exposed to Bard’s heated gaze.

“I will have your voice by the time the night is through,” Bard promised, and he smiled fondly at the raised eyebrow Thranduil gave him in turn.

“I’ll not give what is not well-earned, _astalder_. If you wish to hear me sing and cry out for you, you must do something worthy of it.”

Bard hummed and raked his fingers down the length of Thranduil’s spine, leaving raised red lines in their wake, an electric kind of pleasure making the elf squirm. Thranduil’s eyes fluttered shut and a gasp was torn from his throat.

“I’ll endeavor to do so, my lord.”

He held Thranduil’s hips to pull him up onto his knees, and gripped at the silken hair splayed against the elvenking’s shoulders. He gave it a tug, hoping he was not overstepping his boundaries, but the sharp whine he received held no pain and Thranduil’s hands clenched and unclenched in the sheets, his cock dripping as he thrust against nothing but air.

He kissed down Thranduil’s back, thinking of all the time he hoped to spend caressing and exploring every inch of the pale skin he found. Bard laughed when the sensation of his beard against the small of the his lover’s back set Thranduil to squirming. His thumbs parted the elf’s cheeks, and when he nipped at one side, Thranduil went utterly still.

“ _Bard_ ,” he whispered, and lowered himself slowly to his elbows, burying his face in the pillows as he fought to keep himself under control. “ _Aiya, tessa ar’ sana amin, lá a’maelea!_ ”

Bard’s tongue darted out and flicked against Thranduil’s entrance, and the elvenking whimpered, parting his legs further to entice the man to do more than tease.

Bard slipped his tongue into Thranduil, and the wild, desperate sound the elvenking made as he licked into him messily nearly had Bard coming undone. He gripped Thranduil’s hips and the elf pushed back against him filthily, whimpers and gasps falling freely from his slack mouth.

Blindly, he reached for the vial of oil that had come to rest against his leg, and poured a generous amount on his hand, breath quickening when he slipped a finger into Thranduil alongside his tongue and the elf’s entire body jerked from the pleasure of it.

Another followed, and he moved away to watch where Thranduil’s body was greedily pulling his fingers in. He circled carefully with them, making certain it was only pleasure that made the elf bite his lip. He slicked his own length as he prepared Thranduil for it, pressing a third finger inside when he felt the elf relax around him. He brushed against a spot deep inside the elvenking, and at last he had his king crying out for him.

“I cannot last,” he panted, breath stuttering when Bard grabbed a fistful of hair and pulled again. “ _Please!_ Be in me, be one with me, Bard, I beg of you!”

Bard drew back with a moan, sliding up along Thranduil’s form to press soft, worshipful kisses against the smooth skin of his neck. He linked their hands together, settling along the length of his lover’s back, and bit his lip at the sensation of heated skin against his chest.

He thought of the practice fights the elves had staged in order to show his men how to be ready for the battle that was now passed, and the eventual defeat of one being or another. Thranduil was alive and warm and _wanting_ beneath him, and it made his heart overflow with the joy of it.

“ _Lle lava?_ ” He growled the question so many of his people had been asked on the mock battlefield.

Thranduil’s reaction was instant. He sank low to the bed, back bowed in submission to him, and let his hair slip to the side, baring his neck to Bard in the most exquisitely primal display the man had ever beheld.

“ _Amin lava, haranamin_ ,” he mewled, sighing and writhing in pleasure when Bard bit down and gripped at the nape of his neck, meeting Thranduil’s challenge with one of his own. “ _Amin naa lle nai. Sana menle saesa!_ Please!”

“Please, what?”

“Please, _Dragonslayer_ ,” Thranduil moaned, and Bard finally pushed into him with one thrust, gripping tighter at their interwoven fingers as he sank into his lover, the sweetness of Thranduil’s body around him overwhelming. Their hips were cradled against each other’s, the rise and fall of Bard’s chest brought him against Thranduil’s back, intimately connected and legs tangled. _So good…_

He shuddered, trying to stay still in order to give Thranduil time to breathe and let himself grow used to their bodies being joined like this, but it seemed the elf’s patience had finally run out. He shifted and arched lower so that Bard slipped further into him, and from there, there could be no more restraint.

Bard drew back, nearly freeing himself fully, before he plunged back in, and finally Thranduil screamed. He kept his undulations slow at first, savoring the whispers of sound as they moved against the sheets, and the sound of skin slick against skin. Soon enough, though, he had set a punishing pace, all teasing forgotten with every thrust into the elvenking, his mind lost and awhirl with only the inevitable end in sight.

He kissed the bare shoulders that tensed and relaxed as Thranduil was breached over and over, every thrust designed to mercilessly abuse the place inside him that would have him careening over the edge beyond his control.

“You are so beautiful,” Bard said, his voice low and rough, and Thranduil shivered at the intimacy of the tone as much as the words. “I would bed you every night, if I could, and keep you close in the daylight, that I might serve you in any way you would see fit of me.”

“Such gentle words for the fierce, incredible way you pleasure me,” Thranduil moaned, and pushed back to meet Bard’s thrusts, trying to speak when coherency had all but fled them. “Do you mean them?”

“Aye, and more besides. Thranduil…” He slowed his movements, dragging himself back from the haze of lust to pull out and turn Thranduil over, face to face with the dazed eyes and flushed cheeks of the elvenking. He carefully pushed back in, and they both sighed happily. Bard nipped the curve of his ear, tugging at the tip, and Thranduil’s back arched, his mouth slack around a sharp cry.

Bard began to move again, slower this time, that he might watch Thranduil be taken apart piece by piece. The normally unreadable face was open in its desire, and when he took the elf in hand, stroking firmly in time with his thrusts, Thranduil bit his lip till it was a bruised red that had Bard aching to kiss him again.

“When I saw you alive in the forge, it was as though my world could begin again,” he confessed. “I was so frightened of losing you, as an ally, as a confidante, as a friend, as someone who had made me feel what I could not for so long.”

He pressed their foreheads together and began to speed his movements once more, eyes focused on his lover’s expression of need and adoration and _love_ \--

Come what may on the morrow. Death waited around every turn, but here, there was only life.

“Kiss me,” Thranduil commanded breathlessly, and Bard was helpless to deny him. Their tongues danced, moans lapped up like water until the need for air parted them. Bard pressed his face into the curve of the elvenking’s neck as the heat spiraled higher, thrusts growing erratic.

“ _A! Bard, tula ‘ten amin!_ ”

He gave a final stroke, and Thranduil screamed, coming hard against their stomachs, head thrown back as he shuddered through his completion.

The tightening of his body around Bard’s was too much, and he was thrown over the edge with his voice caught around Thranduil’s name. His hips stuttered as he spilled into the elvenking, filling him once, twice more before he collapsed, exhausted and satiated, against Thranduil’s chest.

The only sound for a long while was their panting as they tried to regain their breath, and the ancient whisper of wind borne _magik_ outside the tent. It was far more dangerous and powerful than the quiet way it curled around the city, but it seemed content to shelter her walls in the night.

“Can it be tamed?,” Bard asked quietly, pressing a kiss over Thranduil’s heart, where the thud of it was rapid and strong. He leaned up to grab a cloth from the basin that stood beside the bed and cleaned them off, his touch feather light but sure against Thranduil’s chest and stomach. The way the elf’s eyes glittered with warmth made him long for an age or two to spend between these sheets, learning Thranduil’s body as if it were his own, treasuring and loving him as he was meant to be. He did not have such time, but he would grasp every moment he could.

“No,” Thranduil murmured, and felt the thrum of things beyond sight singing through his bones. “It is the _Tinechor en Vara tel’ Seldarine_ : the shield of protection. It comes from before the beginning of time, when the _Valar_ thought to place their song in something tangible. It can be crooned to, beckoned, and sometimes persuaded to do the deeds of those who know how to entice it, but ultimately it is ageless and beyond the comprehension of any being of the earth. It does as it pleases and it seems that it has seen you, Bard, and the people of Dale, and deemed you inestimably worthy of its protection. I understand that. My power is nothing held to it, but it shall be used for the same purpose.”

He kissed the top of Bard’s head and smiled cheekily when the bowman looked up at him. “It seems I, unlike the _magik_ , can be tamed,” he laughed.

“I’d not have thought it possible. The dangerous and ethereal Lord of Mirkwood, tamed by a bargeman?”

Thranduil hummed and settled them comfortably to sleep, curved around Bard with a hand stroking gently along his side, content with the world for the first time in many centuries.

“I’d not have thought it possible either, _melamin_. But then, I’ve borne witness to stranger things in the wide world, after all.”

**Author's Note:**

> Elvish used in the story in order of appearance:
> 
> Lirimaer - "Lovely one."  
> Lle ume quel. Vasa ar' yulna en i'mereth ar’ esta - "You did well. Eat and drink of the feast and rest."  
> Magik - An old spelling of magic.  
> Astalder - "Valiant one."  
> Aiya, tessa ar' sana amin, lá a’maelea! - "Oh! Hold and take me, please beloved one!"  
> Lle lava? - "Do you yield?"  
> Amin lava, haranamin - "I yield, my king."  
> Amin naa lle nai. Sana menle saesa! - "I am yours to command. Take your pleasure!"  
> A! Bard, tula ‘ten amin! - "Ah! Bard, come for me!"  
> Tinechor en Vara tel’ Seldarine - "Shield of Protection [Spell]."  
> Melamin - "My love."


End file.
